Slash Fic Sherlock Drabbles
by AdenHolmes
Summary: A collection of BBC's Sherlock related shorts. Each chapter will be marked with the pairing it is about and each "chapter" will likely be a stand alone story. Just a bunch of smutty Sherlock stuff for you all. Not all chapters will be rated M content. R&R
1. Sherlock x Lestrade

**I plan to write a variety of pairings in here seeing as this is simply going to be drabbles "story".**

**This first one is Sherlock/Lestrade, next one will be probably be Sherlock/John but all chapters will be labeled with a title and the pairing listed as 1st letters of the charters names**

Any other pairings can be requested via review because I never check PMs. Any insight would be helpful :D

* * *

><p><strong>Not A Child - SL**

* * *

><p>Sherlock was bored, terribly so, and it was too late for Lestrade to be called in if a crime had been committed that night since he had left the office. Sulking he turned in his position on the couch to look at the clock across the room. It was nearing three am and Sherlock was too wired to sleep, too bored to move and, too unmotivated to play his violin, well that and John would absolutely murder him. The past few days John had been exceptionally moody with him and insisted that even with his earplugs he could hear Sherlock playing the violin at god awful hours of the night. And according to John Sherlock's violin was keeping him from getting the proper amount of sleep that a person with a normal 9-5 job needed. Sherlock thought it was rubbish.<p>

So Sherlock found himself removing the bathroom mirror from the wall to reveal the small box shaped hole he had cut into the dry wall to hide his stash. He set himself up rather quickly to inject the needle full of morphine into his vein and quickly did so before stowing his stash away and making his way out into the sitting room. Sherlock didn't even make it fully onto the couch before he passed out on the floor in a drugged stupor. This was what he did when he got this bored. The next thing he was truly aware of in his conscious mind was someone moving around the kitchen and the smell of tea. After a few moments he began to realize that he would not be going back to sleep anytime soon and dragged his body into a sitting position on the lumpy couch. Sherlock rubbed his bleary sleep ridden eye as he looked around the sitting room the light stunning his eyes a tad.

A low groan rumbled in his chest. "John?" Sherlock called out, sincerely hoping his flat mate had made enough coffee for the both of them.

In the kitchen he heard a sound that was most certainly an amused snort moments later Detective Investigator Gregory Lestrade strolled into the sitting room of 221B Baker Street holding two mugs of tea. "Where's John?" Sherlock asked.

"You're the genius make a deduction," Lestrade said, handing Sherlock one of the mugs, before taking a seat on _John's_ chair.

Sherlock threw him a dirty look. "Must've gone to work already then, what time is it?" he asked.

"About half four."

Sherlock grinned. He'd slept a good thirteen hours or so that was amusing. "Well do you need something Detective?" Sherlock asked a smile still on his face.

Lestrade's nose twitched ever so slightly. He loved that smile, but of course he had no plan to tell Sherlock this.

"I did," Lestrade began, his dark chocolate eyes watching Sherlock with indistinct interest and worry. "But it will have to wait."

"Oh?" Sherlock commented leaning toward the salt and pepper haired detective. "Why's that?"

At that moment Lestrade wanted to think, perhaps even believe, that Sherlock's grin was flirty and that perhaps the young consulting detective was as taken with him. Lestrade didn't know if he really wanted it though. Sherlock was much like a child. He wanted to explain the fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach and the ache of worry in his heart away as a crush, but it had been growing for some time. It washed over him sometimes when he least expected it. Those particular feelings were what had caused Lestrade to stay at the flat until Sherlock woke, forget the fact Mycroft had requested he looks out for Sherlock; he had wanted to be there.

His brow furrowed as he considered Sherlock's inquiry. Did he really think him so thick he wouldn't know about the drugs? Not even Sherlock, who slept like the dead on the rare occasion he did, would have woken to the amount of noise going on in the flat next door. "I'm not stupid you know," Lestrade blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Really?"

"I know you've been using Sherlock, think of what Mycr-" Lestrade began.

His words however were cut short by Sherlock slamming down the mug and stalking over to the window -arms crossed as he stared out with his stormy eyes into the rain. "I don't care."

Lestrade sighed. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his index finger and thumb against both, sighing heavily as he rubbed his hand over his face, attempting to shut out the his thoughts-the ones pertaining to Sherlock, or the lecture he'd receive from Mycroft. "Don't be childish," Lestrade said in a semi-forced soothing tone.

He took a few steps toward Sherlock until he was close enough to touch him, but he didn't touch him. Sherlock's moods were quite volatile in regard to anything involving his brother.

A loud snort was the only reply Lestrade received. "Don't treat me like a child," Sherlock said after a moment or two more.

"I don't," Lestrade said defensively.

Slender pale arms crossed themselves over Sherlock's chest as he turned to face Lestrade again. "Oh really?"

"Yes really."

The tone in Lestrade's voice was as earnest and true as it always was and for some reason it caused a smirk to grow in a sprawl across Sherlock's full lips.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"I would disagree with you," Sherlock stated uncrossing his arms and sliding one hand into his pocket as the other raked through his dark curls. Lestrade's eyes followed his hand as if pushed lazily through the locks of hair. For a brief moment he was mesmerized by the gesture.

"Why's that?"

There was a distinct glint of mischief, different than the usual one, in the storm grey eyes as Sherlock regarded Lestrade for a moment, analyzing him. The attention, or maybe the intensity of the eyes, was beginning to create a feeling of warmth under his collar as Lestrade mentally scrambled for a change of subject, but he didn't get very far. His chocolate eyes broke from the gaze of Sherlock's cool grey ones for a fraction of a second-as he loosened his collar a tad- and when he looked up the same eyes were only a few centimeters from his own face.

"What're you doing Sherlock?"

The smirk he'd had was then replaced by a look of deep thought and concentration. "Why?"

"Why what?" Lestrade asked.

"Why'd you still love your ex-wife?"

Lestrade frowned. "I don't. It's all in the past, not that it's your business."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment. Then in a split second, too quick for Lestrade to really react, Sherlock leaned forward pressing his full lips flush against Lestrade's. The breathing of the older male was caught in his throat as he processed what was going on before he slowly, and steadily, relaxed into the kiss, and his hands fell to Sherlock's frighteningly thin waist. At first having his breathe taken away by the urgency with which Sherlock had kissed him Lestrade's thoughts were a tangle of uninterruptable junk. As his thoughts began to return to normal, he adapted to the feeling of Sherlock's chest flush against his, and the searing heat of his extremely pale skin, Lestrade began to wonder.

He didn't understand why Sherlock was kissing him. There were never any signs before that Sherlock returned any sort of feelings for him, in fact there were no signs the quirky detective had _any_ feelings, at all so why all of a sudden.

Lestrade experimentally bit down on Sherlock's bottom lip. There was little to no response that was awfully disconcerting. Sherlock had initiated and yet he didn't seem to be kissing back nearly as much as Lestrade was kissing him, perhaps he didn't know how to kiss?

Reluctantly Lestrade pulled back his brow furrowed at Sherlock. The look on his face was as usual, chilly and calculating, and nothing like it had been moments before the kiss. Had he been that bad of a kisser he'd scared Sherlock off?

"What?" Lestrade asked feeling the blush creep across his lightly tanned cheeks.

Sherlock shrugged and strode back over to the couch and took his tea off the table. "See I'm not a child," Sherlock said simply.


	2. Johnlock

**Here's some Sherlock/John smutt for you all. **

**BEWARE THIS IS A M RATED FIC! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

**Short summary- what happens when Sherlock has taken up smoking again and John's been extremely exhausted over the past few days? Smutt and lemons ensue :D**

* * *

><p><strong><em> Show me?<em>**

**_Johnlock_**

* * *

><p>The stale smell of cigarette smoke filled John's nostrils and penetrated his lungs shaving minutes at a time off his life. He quirked his eye brow. "I preferred it when you used the patches," he commented.<p>

John's dark brown eyes rose slightly from his book and examined Sherlock. Sherlock who ironically enough wasn't even smoking his cigarette anymore and obviously hadn't been for a while due to the amount of accumulated ash at the end of it.

"Well it's impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days, so you needn't worry. I'll be back to the patches eventually." was the only reply he offered.

John snorted a bit, but none the less took a sip of his tea before going back to his book. Though his eyes were trained firmly on the first sentence of page twelve in his book John found himself distracted and unable to concentrate on the sentence, words, or even letters. He could feel the weight of Sherlock's gaze pressing into him from across the room.

"Problem?" John asked not looking up from his book.

"You haven't had any girls over lately. Why?" Sherlock inquired.

The question surprised him and John decided to close his book -he wasn't really reading it anymore- and turn his own gaze to meet Sherlock's quizzical one.

"Since when do you care? You always scare my girlfriends off," John said.

"Care? No. Interested? Quite," Sherlock replied as he exhaled a puff of smoke.

"Why're you interested then?" he frowned.

"Do you recall the day, not long after the pool incident, when I came into the sitting room and you had some girl wrapped up around you on the couch and you wer-" John cut him off.

"Yes! I recall! Why's it matter?"

"I've just wondered. Why? Why do people kiss and the like?" Sherlock asked.

He couldn't help but notice how Sherlock's tongue had flicked experimentally over his lips as he'd spoke about kissing. John tried to ignore it and thought for a second. Truthfully he had little to no idea how to go about explaining physical attractions to Sherlock and it felt odd that he should even have to. Sherlock was a grown man and as mal informed as he could be on some practical things John found himself surprised. He'd pictured Sherlock as being the type who'd have had a one night stand with some drunken girl when he was in uni as an experiment and then never done it again.

"Are you saying...?" John trailed off after a moment.

"I've never kissed anyone."

He was gob smacked, completely and utterly flabbergasted, and astounded by the concept. Even an adult who was stills virgin had most likely kissed someone. He'd never met someone who at their mid-thirties had never so much as kissed someone.

"You- I mean- Just- but you're- bloody hell," John muttered.

"Yes, I'm quite aware of what you think of me John. I'm slightly disappointed by your deduction of my personality and probable habits. I'd think you'd be able to make a more accurate assumption of me," Sherlock said boredly though his eyes were still trained on John's face with interest.

John chewed at his bottom lip for a moment feeling slight unsettled by Sherlock's comment and the fact that the consulting detective's eyes were still on him –analyzing him- it was unnerving. He wanted to ask what Sherlock was thinking about, but he felt quite sure that he wouldn't even acknowledge the question much less answer it until he was ready to share his thoughts. So John kept his mouth shut and tried to concentrate on his book. The two men sat there in silence for a few more moments before John –who was doing his best not to look up- heard Sherlock rise from his chair and the sound of his bare feet padded into the kitchen area.

After a considerable amount of time during which John could not hear Sherlock moving around in the kitchen or making any sort of sound what so ever he decided he ought to get up and check on him. Sherlock had a knack for getting into trouble, especially, when there was silence in the flat for too long. Unfortunately he'd had to learn the lesson about silence the hard way. Begrudgingly John got to his feel to go check up on a child. This was one of the many reasons John often found himself feeling like he was in fact living with a child.

"Sherlock?" John called as he got to his feet leaning heavily on his cane.

The limp was always worse when he was actually walking, when he was thinking about it, he hated that Sherlock had known and was right about it being psychosomatic, but that was just Sherlock. Even as he entered the kitchen and realized Sherlock was no longer in there he had not given a reply.

"Sherlock?"

Nothing. A soft huff passed John's lips and he set his book down on the kitchen table before he decided to head into his room and take a nap while he got the chance. Sherlock had kept him up long hours the past few days working on a particularly puzzling case with him and John was dead tired. This very well may be the best chance he would get to have some sleep before Lestrade called in with something new for them. Between work and cases he'd been exhausted as of late.

As his fingers wrapped loosely around the cool tempered metal of his door handle John had a strange feeling someone –Sherlock was in his room waiting for him-, but he couldn't figure why Sherlock would be in his room. He pulled the door open and stopped –frozen- in the door frame staring.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" John said.

His brows pulled together in confusion as he observed Sherlock lying on his back, ankles crossed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling, and wearing on a pair of jeans with his boxers poking out of the top of them. Since when did Sherlock even wear fucking jeans –specifically tight jeans? More importantly since when did John really pay attention to what Sherlock was wearing? Then again you'd be paying attention as well if you walked into your room to find your flat mate lying shirt less on your bloody bed!

"Waiting," was Sherlock's dull reply.

"For what?" John asked.

"You are fairly intelligent John make a deduction," Sherlock commented in a monotonous voice as he pulled himself into a sitting position and stared at John.

His mind was racing. John was still technically dating some girl –a nameless ghost in Sherlock's mind- and he wasn't comfortable with even the thought of what Sherlock was implying. As much as he'd like to say he'd never fantasized about his flat mate, in a less than PG way, if he were to claim so he would be lying, but never had he dreamed he'd ever be presented with an opportunity to live out any such fantasy. Besides Sherlock was his flat mate, his best mate, it would be awkward?

"Sherlock-"

"I just-" he paused gathering his thoughts. "It's an experiment. Just…can you show me?"

"Sherlock…I?" John didn't know how to verbalize the thoughts going through his mind.

Firstly, he didn't want to admit he was attracted to Sherlock. Secondly, Sherlock had **just** told him he'd never so much as kissed someone before.

"I wouldn't be comfortable with anybody else," he commented softly.

Sherlock seemed to be ashamed of his curiosity on the subject, which was certainly new, and obviously didn't know what to do.

"Ask me properly."

Sherlock's brow furrowed.

"If I was to even consider," John gulped. "_Showing you anything_, I want you to ask me properly."

Sherlock's eyes widened for a split second before he replaced the surprise with his cool look of neutral indifference.

"John will you kiss me."

John paused a moment looking at Sherlock. The fear was evident in his eyes. It was a new look for Sherlock. One that John couldn't say he particularly disliked, but he also couldn't say he disliked it. He thought for a moment that he would prefer to see simple nervousness in Sherlock. How appealing would that be? To have such a genius as Sherlock at his mercy.

"You'll have to tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable," John said.

It took him less than a second of thinking to take the slow and tentative first step toward Sherlock to close the gap between them. His right hand went to rest lightly –hardly touching him- at Sherlock's waist, his other hand formed to the contour of Sherlock's neck, their lips hovered centimetres away from each other, as John pulled Sherlock's face down towards his. He saw the younger man's eyes close slowly as he seemed to be drinking in the sensation of the moment to commit it to his mental hardrive for later analysis.

"Are you positive?" John murmured his voice strained as his breath –which smelled like tea- mixed with Sherlock's –which smelled of coffee.

"Absolutely."

If John hadn't known Sherlock as well as he did he would have never noticed the slight nervous stutter as Sherlock had all but breathed the word out. The consulting detective's anticipation and hunger was what drove him on to close the rather small gap between them. When their lips touched and melted together in a fashion much like ice cream on an electric stove John found himself surprised by how comfortable it was. How delicious Sherlock's lips felt. He kissed harder against Sherlock's stationary lips in an attempt to get him to respond, but he didn't seem to understand what John was trying to tell him.

"You have to move your lips," John breathed against Sherlock's lips, but he was sure Sherlock understood him because he soon began to match John's movements.

He tried to concentrate simply on showing Sherlock how lovely kissing could be. He had to keep his mind off of _those other things_, the ones that would make this more complicated. Just as John had started to drag his mind away from the more perverted thoughts his mind was sent into a flurry of arousal by one small gesture. Sherlock's hand –which had previously been hanging limp and uselessly- had found its way to his lower back and had swiftly tugged on the material of his shirt to untuck it, but of course that hadn't been the worst. He would have been fine, could have ignored it, if that hadn't been followed by the chilling sensation of the cool skin of a pale palm pressing against the heated skin of his back causing him to jump.

"Was that not good?" Sherlock muttered in confusion.

John cleared his throat. "No, just," he paused looking at Sherlock.

The usually confident detective's handsome face was painted thick with a blush that expressed his embarrassment and nervousness. John licked his lips absently.

"I wasn't quite expecting that," he muttered.

John offered him a reassuring smile and sat down on the bed gesturing Sherlock to join him. Sherlock sat down with his knees angled toward John and his head tilted slightly to the side. Tentatively John leaned in once again pulling Sherlock closer to him by his hips as he began to kiss him again.

There were a few moments as they continued to kiss where John had to mentally kick himself to stop the arousal that Sherlock had awoken in him back into place at the back of his mind. He was doing this for Sherlock and not for himself. Sherlock needed to know what kissing was like.

Experimentally John started to open his mouth a tad, just enough, to bite down on Sherlock's bottom lip. The reaction Sherlock gave made John swell with satisfaction. His flat mate emitted a low guttural groan in response to the bite and pressed himself closer –involuntarily- to John. John let his fingers ghost their way from Sherlock's neck and gently down over his back so each of his hands were grasping one of Sherlock's slim hips. Sherlock gave an involuntary gasp before he promptly jerked away from John and nearly fell off the bed scrambling to pull his knees up to his chest.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head.

"Tell me."

John sighed.

Sherlock looked uncertain for a moment as he let his body slowly unfold to reveal the source of his panic to his friend. A bright flush of blood had settled in Sherlock's cheeks. John's eyebrow quirked as he gave Sherlock a once over, but quickly noticed the rather obvious tent that had appeared in his flat mate's trousers.

"It happens sometimes," he murmured as he drew his knees back up to his chest, obviously uncomfortable. "I don't know how to get rid of it."

John's eyes widened.

"I understand what it is and all, but I…I just want it to go away."

"You mean you've never had a wank?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head.

"Can you show me?" Sherlock muttered.

This man. This confused and frightened shadow of his confident best mate was a tad unnerving. He almost would have preferred it if Sherlock had known exactly what he was doing and had taken charge, but that wasn't the case and it wasn't as if John could change it. Well, he could for the next time. Did he want there to be a next time?

He looked at Sherlock again. The porcelain looking pale skin clinging to the lean muscled chest and arms, his stormy grey eyes fixed on John, and the perfect disarray of dark chocolate curls. If Sherlock wanted this to happen again John knew he would be powerless to say no, but if he walked away right now and never showed him he could avoid the situation all together.

John took a deep breath and rested his hand on Sherlock's arm slowly pulling it away from his knees before doing the same with the other arm. Sherlock, thankfully, allowed his knees to unfold away from his chest without any encouragement from John.

"Lie back," John instructed.

Sherlock did so obediently. John could see the slight goose flesh popping up on Sherlock's arms and his nipples hardening as he went to undo the button of Sherlock's jeans. It was easy to shimmy the jeans as well as his boxer shorts down Sherlock's hips once the zip was undone as well. He pulled the elastic out of the way to allow Sherlock's cock from the confining yet soft fabric. A sharp intake of breath could be heard from Sherlock as the cool air of the room assaulted the tender and inflamed skin causing him to groan softly.

John chuckled softly as an equally soft grin curled his lips.

"Hush now, don't want Mrs. Hudson to come up."

Sherlock nodded his head deafly and bit down on his bottom lip. John bit back another chuckle as he spit on his hand, which caused him to earn a confused look from Sherlock. It was a look that didn't last long though seeing as what John did next caused all logical thought, all thought at all, to instantly vacate Sherlock's mind. His fingers wrapped around Sherlock's cock and gave an experimental tug that earned a sharp arch of Sherlock's back and a breathy gasp. He repeated the action only to gain the same reaction. Slowly John began to speed up the motion of his hand on Sherlock's cock and cupped his balls in his other hand massaging them soothingly.

It was interesting to John how quickly Sherlock ran out of breath and was gasping for air hardly able to keep up with what was going on. At one point John leaned down and flicked his tongue sharply over Sherlock's nipple and left a wet trail with his tongue down to Sherlock's naval –all the while still entertaining his cock. John could remember his first wank, granted he'd been fourteen then and not in his mid-thirties, but he assumed Sherlock must've been getting close when he felt the clear and warm pre cum rolling over his fingers.

John leaned down and pressed his lips softly to Sherlock's head flicking his tongue out for just a moment to taste him. He didn't know why he was so curious to know what Sherlock tasted like, but he soon found his hand had abandoned its place on Sherlock's cock and both his hands had taken up a position on either side of Sherlock's hips giving him leverage as he bobbed his head up and down. An involuntary shudder wracked Sherlock's body and John knew what was coming so he sucked the warm flesh as far into his mouth as possible so his head pressed against the back of John's throat.

That was when Sherlock finally cried out. It was a marvelous and explosive cry that was laced with ecstasy and painted with excitement and pride as Sherlock spilled himself down John's throat. Once he was sure Sherlock was finished he swallowed quickly and removed his mouth from Sherlock's softened cock.

He went to sit back on his feet, but Sherlock's clammy hand darted out and dragged him down next to him.

"Stay," Sherlock muttered breathily.

John glanced down at himself. He didn't know how to feel about the erection that had been straining against his own trousers since his fingers had first touched Sherlock.

"Should I…?" Sherlock trailed off having noticed where John's gaze had fallen.

John looked up at Sherlock in surprise. Truthfully he wanted to thrust Sherlock's mouth down on his cock the moment the notion had been expressed, however vaguely, by the consulting detective. This was certainly not the time though. He looked at Sherlock's orgasm ridden sweaty and slightly shaking body and shook his head.

"There's plenty of time for that later," John said. "You sleep."


End file.
